


Truth or Shot

by RemindMeWhoIAm



Series: The Care and Keeping of Railroad Spies [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Female Sole Survivor/John Hancock mentioned, Humor, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemindMeWhoIAm/pseuds/RemindMeWhoIAm
Summary: Deacon picked at the bottle’s label for a minute and then took a quick shot. “Why did you join the Railroad?”“At first, I just needed you guys to get me into the Institute.  Then I liked the cause and the action.  Why did you join the Railroad?”“I like belonging to clubs.  Makes me feel cool.”“It’s truth or shot, Deacon,” Nora reminded him, “And you’re getting pretty glassy-eyed, so…”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a sequel, per se, but the SS here is the same Nora as the one in "Out of Time". It takes place post-Institute and some of the events referenced happened in OoT.

     “Ooh, yay.  Slime.”

     Nora rolled her eyes and climbed down the muddy bank. “Quit your whining.”

     “Boss, it’s _gross_ ,” Deacon continued emphatically, bouncing anxiously on his heels. “Look at it.  It’s practically glowing.”

     “Yes, well, that’s the world we live in,” Nora replied, “Come on, there’s rocks you can hop across on.”

     She demonstrated, jumping lithely from one exposed boulder to the next, pack bouncing as she went.  Deacon let out a low whine of disgust.

     “It’s either get your feet wet, Princess,” Nora said, “Or stand out here in the open where a sniper can take you out from a mile away because of that stupid wig.”

     She pointed to the little cabin on the other side of the flooded stream, a one-room hut she had put up in an abandoned construction site a few weeks before.  It wasn’t much, but it provided cover and dry ground where they could roll out sleeping bags for the night.

     Deacon sighed in defeat and toed his way down the bank to cross the stream, arms outstretched to keep himself upright.  Nora smirked and scrambled up the opposite bank.  As she was straightening and adjusting her pack, she heard a loud squelch of mud and glanced back just in time to see Deacon windmill his arms wildly for a moment.  His legs went out from under him and he landed ass-first in the water with a heavy plop.  Nora stifled a giggle when he glared up at her.

     “I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

     “What did I do?”

     “You got me into this mess.”

     “I didn’t put the needy synth out by the swamps,” Nora replied, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Nor did I make it rain for three days straight.”

     “We could have gone around.”

     “You’ll survive, I promise,” she said as he extricated himself from the mud.  He was covered from the waist down, jeans soaked through and shoes squeaking wetly.

     “I’ll start a fire so you can dry off,” she continued apologetically, “And I’ll take first watch.”

     He glanced over at her and huffed grumpily. “These were my favorite jeans.”

     “You picked those up in some old house five miles back.”

     “They were still my favorite.”

 

     Twenty minutes later, the two were parked in front of the little hut, a small but warm fire contained in an old stew pot between them.  Deacon had removed and rinsed his muddy clothing, leaving them to dry draped over a nearby bush while he sat wrapped in a threadbare quilt Nora gave him.  He stared dolefully into the fire, shoulders slumped.  Nora offered him a bag of brahmin jerky but he shook his head without looking at her.

     They sat there for close to an hour, silent and barely moving, before he said anything.

     “How long has it been since the Institute went up?”

     Nora glanced into her lap. “Three months and six days.”

     Deacon nodded and shifted in his seat, leaning back with a heavy sigh. “You were up and working what, a week afterwards?”

     “Something like that,” Nora shrugged, “Didn’t have much choice.”

     “You mind if I ask you a personal question?”

     “Depends on how personal you want to get.”

     Deacon hesitated, glancing at her over his sunglasses.  She was always struck by how bright his eyes were.  She had expected them to be dark, maybe a little mysterious and depthless.

     “What was the first thing you did after you were released from the Vault?”

     Nora glanced back into her lap, fiddling absently with the dials on her Pip-Boy.  No one had ever directly asked her about that first day – it had come up in her explanations to Preston and she had once discussed the feelings with Hancock, but until now she had never been asked to recount it.

     “I tried to go home,” she said after a long pause, “Codsworth was out front and explained to me how long I’d been gone.  I almost had a panic attack.”

     “When did you meet up with Garvey?”

     “About an hour later,” she replied with a mirthless laugh, “I gathered up some supplies and figured I’d try to find a settlement or something.  Picked up Dogmeat at the Red Rocket and then walked right into a shoot-out.”

     “And it only felt like minutes between being frozen and being thawed?”

     “Yeah, kind of like I had dozed off for a short nap, you know?”

     “So…when it felt like only two, maybe three hours since your world was literally destroyed, your husband was murdered, and your son kidnapped, you were hopping into Power Armor to fight a monster and help a bunch of strangers?”

     “Deacon…please don’t idolize me,” Nora said, “I was an angry, confused mess that day.  It was this strange, surreal kind of thing.  I almost died and I was laughing to myself about dragons.”

     “But you still did it.”

     Nora sighed. “Yeah, I did.  What’s with the questions?”

     “Curiosity,” he replied with a shrug, “Comparison.  Self-reflection for the purposes of divine enlightenment.”

     “Well, I can’t claim to have reached nirvana,” Nora said, “But I learned a long time ago you only go backwards when you start comparing yourself to anybody.  Besides, what does my experience have to do with you?”

     “Nothing,” Deacon said, standing and hugging the quilt around himself tighter. “I’m just being dumb.  Forget I asked.”

     He shuffled off and Nora slumped in her seat with the distinct feeling that he was holding something back from her.

 

     It was nearing nightfall when they made it back to Railroad HQ.  Deacon had stayed on Nora’s heels the whole way, quiet and distracted, barely responding when Nora had asked if he was alright.  She stopped asking after the third shrug and shifty sideways glance.

     “We didn’t make it to the synth,” Nora told Carrington, removing the care package from her pack as Deacon shifted restlessly behind her.

     Carrington sighed. “Who did?”

     “Gunners,” Nora replied, “They’ve got a waypoint down there.”

     “Professor wiped ‘em out quicker than a radroach infestation,” Deacon supplied, scratching the back of his neck. “So it wasn’t an entirely unproductive weekend.”

     “I must say, for someone who waltzed in here not even knowing what a dead drop was, you’ve proven yourself remarkably useful,” Carrington said, “As long as you make good time, at least.”

     “Wow, asshole, for a moment there I actually thought you were trying to compliment me,” Nora deadpanned, “For the record, we got there as fast as humanly possible.  The synth just happened to stumble directly into danger; there wasn’t really much we could do.”

     “Yes, of course,” Carrington replied, eyeing Deacon over her shoulder. “Is there something wrong?”

     Deacon scratched his forearm quickly and then let his hands drop, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

     “Alright,” Carrington said, slowly pulling his gaze away from the spy. “If you’ve got the time, there is a dead drop from Augusta that needs to be taken care of.”

     “I thought we’d established that Augusta isn’t compromised?” Nora asked, “Seriously, it’s been like six months since – Deacon, seriously, what’s the problem?”

     Deacon scrunched his shoulders and winced, scratching furiously along the side of his neck. “I don’t know,” he said, “I think something must have bitten me a couple times…”

     Nora frowned and pushed his collar aside.  A bright red rash was beginning to spread across his olive skin, accompanied by dozens of tiny blisters.  The same rash streaked down his arms.

     “It’s looks like an allergic reaction to something,” Carrington observed. 

     “I think it’s poison ivy,” Nora said, pulling her hand back and wiping it on her jacket. “How long have you been itching?”

     “All day,” Deacon replied, “What the fuck is poison ivy?”

     “A plant,” she said, “That bush you used as a drying rack must’ve been it.”

     “Why didn’t you tell me it was _poisonous_?”

     “I didn’t know,” Nora shot back, “I didn’t inspect it and it didn’t look exactly like the poison ivy bushes I remember, anyway.”

     Deacon sighed and scratched furiously at his abdomen. “It’s all over,” he whined, “How do I make it stop _itching_?”

     “Stop scratching, for starters,” Carrington said, “Rule number one for any kind of rash.”

     “You need to wash off, too,” Nora added, “And wash your clothes.”

     “Good luck with that down here,” Carrington remarked, and Nora rolled her eyes.

     “Just once, could you be helpful?” she asked, “Deacon, get a Stimpak out of my bag and see if it helps at all.  If not, you’ll just have to suck it up until we can get back to Goodneighbor.”

     “Ugh, I hate traveling with you,” Deacon moaned, scratching the back of his hand and then moving to his knees.

     “Will it make you feel any better if I send a few Minutemen to burn down those bushes?”

     Deacon jabbed himself with the Stimpak and pouted up at her. “Maybe.  I guess.”

     “I’ll get right on it,” Nora said, shouldering her bag again. “Carrington, you’ll have to get someone else to take care of the dead drop if it needs to be done right away.”

     Carrington sighed heavily. “I’ll see if Glory is up to it, but check back soon.”

     Nora nodded. “Come on, Deke.  And stop scratching.”

 

     “You want me to scrub myself off with _Abraxo_?  What am I, a dirty soup pot?”

     “Read the box, Princess,” Nora replied, “It’s a degreaser.”

     “So?”

     “So, your skin is reacting to an oil that the poison ivy produces,” she said, “Scrub every spot that itches with that and some cold water --”

     “Why does it have to be cold?”

     “Because cold water will close your pores and prevent more oil from being absorbed into your skin,” Nora explained, trying not to show her impatience. “Just do it, okay?  After cleaning up you can sit in a warm bath.”

     “I’m getting the impression that you’ve dealt with this before,” Deacon said, shuffling to the sink in the corner of the room with the box of Abraxo Nora had given him.

     “The first and only time my husband and I went camping.”

     “When will it go away?”

     Nora shrugged and knelt to rifle through her bag for a pouch of caps. “Depends on how sensitive your skin is and how long before you _stop scratching_.”

     Deacon huffed but obeyed.

     “I’ll be back in a few,” Nora said, “Scrub it good.”

     He waved her off and Nora shut the door with a gentle snap, caps rattling in her pocket.  She hurried down the hall and through the lobby of the Rexford, returning Fred’s wave as she left the dark hotel.  It had begun raining again, a heavy spring shower that flooded the streets of Goodneighbor and pushed all the drifters into the Third Rail or under the eaves of the Old State House.  Nora splashed through the puddles towards Daisy’s, head ducked against the cold raindrops hitting her skin.

     “Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer,” Daisy said when she stepped inside the shop, giving Nora a wide smile. “Is our absent mayor back in town, too?”

     “Just me,” Nora replied, returning her smile. “Do you have anything hanging around that would help with poison ivy rash?”

     “Poison ivy?” Daisy repeated, drumming her fingers on the countertop. “That’s a tough one.  Didn’t think it still existed.”

     “Apparently it does, or there’s something out there a lot like it,” Nora said, “I was down by the Gunner Plaza with one of my guys and he seems to have gotten into it.  Gave him a Stimpak but it didn’t do much but stop it from getting worse.”

     “Damn nukes took my roses and my good looks, but they left behind the bugs and the poison ivy,” Daisy sighed, “Just my luck.”

     “Daisy, you’ve still got your good looks.”

     “Now don’t you try to flatter me, smoothskin,” Daisy shot back, grinning at her. “I see right through you.  Here, take the vodka.”

     “No offense, but this looks gross,” Nora replied, examining the dirty bottle Daisy plunked on the counter.

     “I know,” Daisy said, voice muffled as she rummaging around the bottom shelves. “Use it like you would witch hazel.  Give _this_ to your guy to drink.”

     She handed up a large bottle of bourbon. “It’s not Jim Bean, but it’ll get him fuzzy-headed enough to not mind the itchiness.”

     “Good strategy,” Nora said, counting caps out of her bag. “You know, I used to have an entire bathroom counter full of skincare crap.”

     “And now you’re lucky to find a bar of soap you don’t have to share, right?”

     Nora smiled again and left the caps on the counter. “Exactly.”

     “Take care, alright?” Daisy said as Nora grabbed the bottles to leave, “And don’t you show your face around here again without bringing those kiddos of yours for me to see, you hear?”

     “Will do, Daisy.  Stay sharp.”

     Nora hurried back to the hotel through the rain, bottles clutched to her chest securely.  When she made it back up to the room, she knocked once and waited a moment.

     “Yeah.”

     Deacon was curled up in the tub in the far corner, knees to his chest, looking about as pale and miserable as a drowned mole rat.  Nora could see the angry red patches of ivy rash on his back and arms, bright, swollen spots of skin pebbled with little blisters.

     “You told me to sit in the warm water when I was done washing off.”

     “Is it helping any?”

     “No.”

     “Well, I have something else that might,” Nora said, “Get some pants on.”

     She climbed onto the bed in the corner and turned to the wall, Pip-Boy in her lap as Deacon sloshed out of the tub.  She pulled up the radio and fiddled with the knobs to send a message to Sanctuary Hills.

     “Home’s not having a problem, are they?”

     “No, just letting them know I’ll be a day or two late getting home.”

     “You don’t have to hang around here with me.”

     “I know I don’t.”

     There was a tense pause.  Nora finished with her Pip-Boy and set it aside, waiting until she felt him perch on the edge of the mattress before turning around.

     “Hand me that dishrag over there,” she said, nodding to the scrap of cloth draped over the end of the bed frame.  Deacon handed it over and Nora popped the cork on the bottle of vodka, curling her lip at the rancid potato-smell of it.

     “I’ve been punished enough today, don’t you think?”

     “This isn’t for drinking,” she said, wetting the rag. “But I do plan on making you play a drinking game with me.”

     “No offense, Boss, but I’m not really in the mood.”

     Nora ignored him and pressed the vodka-soaked rag to the largest swath of rash on his bare back.  He hissed and pulled away.

     “What the hell?”

     “It’ll dry out the skin and clean it, too,” Nora replied, “As much as you’ve been scratching, you’re going to get an infection.  Now hold still.”

     “Yes, Doctor.”

     Nora rolled her eyes. “Open up the bourbon,” she instructed, “The game we’re going to play is called Truth or Shot.”

     “I’m pretty shitty at one of those.  Guess which.”

     “I know.  You’re going to practice telling the truth or get drunk enough to spill your secrets anyway.”

     Deacon sighed. “Alright, I confess.  I ate the last box of Fancy Lads,” he said, “There, you got it out of me.”

     “Nice try,” Nora said, dabbing at his rash again. “I’ll go first.  You ask me a question.  I have to be honest or I have to take a shot.”

     Deacon glanced down at the bourbon, contemplating for a moment. “Where did you learn this game?”

     “College,” Nora replied, “Alright, my turn.”

     “I didn’t think we had started.”

     “Stop stalling.  Why have you been in a bad mood since last night?”

     Deacon hesitated a moment and then took a quick swig straight from the bottle. “Why are you staying here with me?”

     “Because I like you.  Why are you avoiding my questions?”

     He took another shot and Nora bit her lip in frustration.

     “Why do you like me?”

     “Because you saved my life once.”

     “You’re the one who loves the guns, I just sort of hang around and get in the way.”

     “Six months ago,” Nora said, “I wanted to be the Silver Shroud, remember?”

     “Yeah.”

     “And I was shooting Psycho and popping Mentats like breath mints.”

     “Yeah.”

     “ _And_ ,” Nora continued, trying to keep the aggravation from creeping into her voice. “I pulled a gun on you when you suggested I take a break and sleep?  Ringing any bells?”

     “That was definitely _self-_ preservation there, Boss.”

     “You went and got Hancock and Dogmeat to keep me from going totally off my rocker,” Nora finished, sighing. “I was hallucinating and talking to my dead husband.  It was below freezing temperatures and I was walking around Boston at night in that crazy dress, remember?  The thigh-highs?  If you hadn’t run back to Goodneighbor when you did I’d have walked off the edge of a roof or fallen in the river or walked into a Raider den.”

     “Oh.”

     Nora pressed the dishrag to a patch of blisters on his shoulder blade. “Alright, back to the game.  I’m going to take a penalty question since you made me explain all that.”

     “You’re persistent.”

     “Where did you grow up?”

     There was a beat of silence.  Nora almost expected him to take another shot but this time, he actually opened his mouth.

     “University Point.”

     “Ok, progress.  Your turn.”

     “What do you miss most about your life before the war?”

     Nora thought for a moment. “Cars and public transportation.  It’s a pain in the ass to walk everywhere.”

     “Not your husband?”

     “It’s my turn to ask the question.  Did you have any family?”

     “A couple of brothers.  If you could bring your husband back to life, would you?”

     Nora grabbed the bottle from him and took a quick gulp.  It was pretty good, sliding down her throat warm and smooth, only slightly bitter.

     “You asked me that a year too late to get an answer.  What did you do before you joined the Railroad?”

     Deacon took the bottle back and looked up at the ceiling. “I had a farm.  What was your husband like?”

     Nora sighed. “Really, Deke?”

     He offered her the bottle. “It’s truth or shot.”

     “He was a doctor,” Nora said, rolling her eyes. “He was quiet, even-tempered.  Liked to make dumb jokes.  He wore these dorky glasses before the Army gave him laser eye surgery.  He used to buy me books when I was upset or stressed out.”

     She set the dishrag and vodka on the table beside the bed. “Hopefully that helps with the itching some.  Have you ever been married?”

     Deacon lifted the bourbon to his lips but paused and set it on the table with a sigh.  Nora sat back and patted the mattress next to her, trying hard not to look too eager.  Deacon grabbed his shirt and slipped it back on gingerly, avoiding her eyes.

     “Yes.  How long were you and your husband together?”

     “Together for thirteen years, married for eight when he died.  How long were you married?”

     “Three years.”

     Deacon sat back against the wall next to her, his shoulder barely touching hers, and winced a bit when his back touched the peeling wallpaper.

     “It’s your turn to ask me a question,” Nora reminded him, trying to smile comfortingly.  He still didn’t look at her.

     “If you could turn Hancock back into a human being, would you?”

     “No.  Why are you so interested in my men?”

     Deacon took a shot. “Why wouldn’t you turn him human again?”

     “Because I love him the way he is,” Nora replied, “Where is your dearly beloved now?”

     “Probably in the same place as yours.  Why Hancock of all people?”

     Nora narrowed her eyes at him.  He didn’t say anything, just offered her the bottle silently.  She waved it away with a sigh.  This game was not working out the way she had hoped it would.

     “Ironically, because before we got together, he didn’t ask me a ton of personal questions,” Nora replied, “He didn’t ask about Nate or Shaun or stuff like that, but if I volunteered information, he listened.  What did you love most about your partner?”

     “Her smile.  Why wouldn’t you bring your husband back to life if you could?”

     “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

     “But you didn’t say you would, either.”

     “Exactly.  What happened to your wife?”

     Deacon picked at the bottle’s label for a minute and then took a quick shot. “Why did you join the Railroad?”

     “At first, I just needed you guys to get me into the Institute.  Then I liked the cause and the action.  Why did _you_ join the Railroad?”

     “I like belonging to clubs.  Makes me feel cool.”

     “It’s truth or shot, Deacon,” Nora reminded him, “And you’re getting pretty glassy-eyed, so…”

     He sighed and rubbed his face.  He had a dark five o’clock shadow forming along his jaw and his eyes were rimmed red like he’d been crying.  Nora waited in silence, knowing he was trying to decide his move from there.  After several minutes of tense silence, he let out another loud sigh.

     “Because my Barbara was a synth.”

     Nora nodded. “Who was it?”

     “What?”

     “Who was it that killed her?”

     “Doesn’t matter,” Deacon replied, “People I used to run with.  Violent bigots.  She wasn’t the first victim.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     “Well, what goes around comes around, I guess.  I didn’t deserve someone like her.  I don’t deserve a friend like you.”

     Nora didn’t answer, just leaned her head back and closed her eyes.  She could hear the slosh of the bottle as Deacon took another shot.  He nudged her hand with it and she took one, too.

     “We’ve all done shit we aren’t proud of.”

     “Like me?” Deacon asked, a touch of disbelief in his voice. “What, did you lynch a ghoul before you met Hancock and saw the error of your ways, oh great Commonwealth savior?”

     Nora ignored the jab.  He was pretty close to drunk and it wasn’t the first time someone had lashed out at her, anyway.

     “Not that,” she said, “I’ve used people, though.”

     “How so?”

     “When I first knew I’d have to go into the Glowing Sea,” she said, “I was terrified.  I knew I’d need some Power Armor.  So I hired MacCready to help me find some or earn enough caps to buy some, and when we first walked out of Goodneighbor, I didn’t really care if he made it back with me.”

     “I have a hard time believing that when you risked your life for the guy’s kid,” Deacon said, “A kid who now calls you Aunt Nora.”

     “I started to like him.  And he saved my life, too.  I got shot in the shoulder up at Dunwich Borers and he took out the Raider who did it before she could finish the job.”

     “What about everyone else who adores you?”

     “I neglected the Minutemen for a long time,” Nora said, “I ditched Piper when she broke her wrist and I realized she wouldn’t be a good traveling companion.  Then Strong ditched _me_ because I was using so many chems.  Then, again, he saved my life.  It kind of takes me a while to realize people care about me and to reciprocate, I guess.”

     “You’re full of it.  You’re drunk and you’re lying to make me feel better.”

     “Says the guy who has had twice as many shots and fucking _thrives_ on bullshit.”

     “I just like the costumes that come with the job.”

     Nora laughed and her head began to swim a bit, her limbs heavy. “Then I guess we’re two fucked-up halves of one whole, right?”

     “Are you saying we’re soulmates?” Deacon asked, taking the bottle from her. “How are we going to work this out with Hancock?  He _might_ be down for some kinky shit but honestly, I don’t think he’s going to want to share you…”

     Nora stole the bottle back and took a long gulp. “Not in your wildest dreams.”

     “Well, it’s my turn to ask a question,” Deacon said, “Since we’re bonding and all, what’s he like, anyway?  Dish, girlfriend.”

     Nora squinted at him and took a quick shot.  Deacon groaned.

     “Oh, come on.  Sate my curiosity.”

     “No.”

     “What, are you embarrassed?  Tell your buddy.  I need to one-up Sturges and Piper on the gossip train,” Deacon pressed, grinning at her. “Is he kinky?  Does he talk dirty in bed?  I saw you pick up some handcuffs once in that old police station.  You _totally_ didn’t junk them, did you?”

     Nora took another shot and suppressed a hiccup.  Deacon’s eyes widened.

     “Nora, you minx!”

     “I didn’t say anything!”

     “Exactly!”

     “I’m too drunk to understand your logic, Deke.”

     “Who said I had any such thing?”

     Nora giggled and hiccupped again. “We’re going to feel this in the morning,” she said, glancing ruefully at the bottle in her hand.

     “Ah, what are friends for if not encouraging you to make bad decisions?”

     He downed the last bit of the bottle and belched.  Nora made a face.

     “You’re gross.”

     “I’m a man.”

     “Is that what they told you?”

     He shoved her playfully and Nora giggled, pushing back against him.  The room was spinning around her but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t regret the amount of alcohol she’d just consumed.  He flopped back onto the mattress, sighing and letting the bottle fall to the floor with a loud thump.  Nora scooted down next to him and pillowed her head on his arm.  It was still raining, the drip of water on the eaves rhythmic and soothing.  Nora smiled to herself and closed her eyes, letting the haze of alcohol lull her towards sleep.

     “Deke?”

     “Yeah?”

     “We don’t use handcuffs.  I prefer the flag belt.”

     The last sound she heard before drifting off was Deacon’s delighted, sleepy chuckle.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where the inspiration for this came from, but I may do more Nora & companion one-shots like it. Feel free to make suggestions or leave me prompts :-)


End file.
